


Citizens, do you picture the future to yourselves?

by onlyacoffee



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Barricade Day, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Gen, Introspection, No Dialogue, a little bit of socialism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 05:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyacoffee/pseuds/onlyacoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The Horizon Which One Beholds from the Summit of a Barricade</i>, from Feuilly's point of view. Drabble written on June 5th, the day the barricades rose!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Citizens, do you picture the future to yourselves?

_Citizens, do you picture the future to yourselves?_

Feuilly wipes the sweat from his brow, uselessly. His hand is dry but dirty, grimy. No blood, not yet, although when he pictures his future he can already see the red crust under his fingernails, on his knuckles, running down his arms. He shivers. For now, though, the blood is in his veins and his heart beats, and beats, and beats. Steady, and so loud, only drowned by the words of his brother leader standing tall on the barricade.

Students, workers, all around him, they are gathered, most quiet, some thoughtful, all exhausted. There are holes in their group, painful gaps where a timid, bell-like laugh would be followed by a bellowing one, and more.

Enjolras is speaking – no, singing. His speech is unblemished, his words do not falter.

_Courage, and onward! Citizens, whither are we going?_

Tomorrow, Feuilly thinks, tomorrow is when the holes will be filled, either by light or by blood. They will bring tomorrow to the people; he will bring tomorrow to himself, whether his own life of his testament.

_Listen to me, you, Feuilly, valiant artisan, man of the people. I revere you. Yes, you clearly behold the future, yes, you are right. You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly; you adopted humanity for your mother and right for your father. You are about to die, that is to say to triumph, here._

He can feel his face burning, cheeks reddening. He could not look away from Enjolras, but turns his head the moment the bright sky-blue gaze crosses his own. What of him? There is nothing for him beyond this barricade, he knows. He has thought about it, perhaps, but never before today he had truly realised what his end will mean.

He wonders, fleetingly, what will happen after. Will it be a triumph? If Enjolras’ words are to be remembered – and they are, surely as Feuilly stands there today – will they really bring about a new dawn? How many more will it take, words like these, and men like Enjolras – because he is a man, even though his appearance is deceiving -, men like Prouvaire and Bahorel, women like the girl who expired in Marius’ arms?

Man of the people, Enjolras called him, but the word man is nothing, the word people is everything. One alone can make a difference if he is part of something. But what of Feuilly’s own dawn, the dawn of men like him, if he himself is quiet, voiceless on his own? He is not afraid, he is not ashamed.

He tightens his fingers around the nail he is holding. He’ll do what he can

**Author's Note:**

> I can't even remember if, in the Brick, 'Vivent les peuples!' happens before of after this chapter. Probably before (this can be left to interpretation, maybe?)


End file.
